A Chant poem

 Wading In 

Stepping out where the waters are deep and dark,

I paused, oak tree still.

Knowing which way the stick floats,

I paused, oak tree still.

The river grew whitecaps, bred rushing sounds,

I paused, oak tree still.

My walking stick at the ready, forked end down,

I paused, oak tree still.

Smelling the blooming of the trees near the shore,

I paused oak tree still.